


One Tuesday Morning in Wakanda

by hantumomo



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Friendship, Gen, Genius Shuri (Marvel), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hantumomo/pseuds/hantumomo
Summary: To help Bucky, Shuri sets herself a dangerous task.Angst, a not-so-secret admirer, a gender non-conforming AI, and minor goaty shenanigans add to the fun.





	One Tuesday Morning in Wakanda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeBeafortheWeekend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBeafortheWeekend/gifts), [SMDarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMDarling/gifts).



> For Zee and D, for advice and virtual hugs.  
> And Ferrero Rocher! ^^
> 
> Unbeta'd.

The landscape glowed under the mid-morning sun as the hover car glided across the plain to Black Warrior Creek. Other than gently rustling the blades of grass as it sped over them, the silent vehicle did not intrude on the peace of the day, or the family of unsuspecting impala breakfasting on the low hanging fruit of a sausage tree as it skimmed past a mere six feet from them.

Shuri hoped that whatever Bucky was doing, he had his back turned away from the approach to his small homestead. She hadn't meant to sneak up on him the Tuesday before, but his truly startled yelp had made her laugh so much she'd lost her balance and had slid off the seat of the hover bike she was on. She hoped to surprise him again this time. With a small, gleeful smirk, she set the recording function of the kimoyo beads on her wrist on standby.

She looked forward to visits with Bucky. It hadn't always been so, though not for personal reasons. She enjoyed his company and of late, it had become easy to think of him as a friend.

But her duties as lead science and technology advisor in her brother's outreach program in Oakland as well as having to be on hand to supervise ongoing repairs and upgrades to the Science Centre meant time away from social visits.

The damage the Science Centre had sustained during the battle against Killmonger and her rogue kinsmen had been substantial. It still hurt her after all these months. Deeply. Her reluctant understanding of her cousin's motivation continued to war against the betrayal of Wakabi and the powerless rage she felt over the lives lost. For the heartbreak her mother had had to suffer before they had discovered T’Challa was still alive.

She shook off these thoughts, mentally and physically. It was a slight movement but enough to cause her shins to bump against the two black cases set on either side of her on the floor of the hover car.

Just looking at them lifted her spirits. Bucky's new arm. Two models. If it were possible to propel the hover car through sheer will, she'd have it rocket to their destination. She was exhilarated to finally have him see them. To have him select which he would wear when he eventually left Wakanda. To share with him the tech that had gone into their creation. In the three months she'd been spending time with him since his discharge from the medical facility, she'd been happy to discover he was an avid science geek. She knew he would get a kick out of seeing what both models could do.

She had another reason - her mission - for visiting him that day though, which accounted for the mild unease lurking in her chest. 

Shuri was confident all that could have been done for Bucky had been done, and with success. But she'd had a dream two nights before. She'd been kneeling on the floor of her lab explaining which neural pathways went where to an attentive young girl child sitting cross-legged before her. The girl, who looked very much like she had when she was five, had cocked her head to one side, then had reached out to poke Shuri between the eyebrows with her forefinger.

“A panther is a jaguar, but is a jaguar a panther?” she'd asked in a voice that was sixteen-year-old Shuri’s.

Shuri knew well the brain and its tricky ways, and had woken up to the grim possibility that her friend's well-being was not entirely guaranteed. The algorithm she'd created had rendered the influence of the trigger words powerless, but well and truly? Regardless of language?

She couldn't tell anyone, most definitely not T’Challa, what she was planning on doing. He'd probably have sent half the Dora Milaje with her, which would put Bucky on alert and defeat the very reason for secrecy.

But of course her brother had suspected something.

He'd given her that look she found most annoying, the assessing gaze with a little tilt back of the head which said he knew she was not telling him everything.

“Would it not be better for the White Wolf to come to your lab to try on the arms, sister? After all, you have all your tools here,” he'd said the evening before.

Keeping her face impassive, she'd met his gaze squarely. Cursed heart-shaped leaf senses that he had, his eyes had narrowed perceptibly, probably at some micro expression she had to have had on her face. She hated when he did that.

Movement to her left reminded her that she'd have to learn how to school her features better. Her mood soured a little more.

Sijuwade, her so-called ‘bodyguard’, was only two months younger than she was, but unlike other boys his age, he was six feet tall. This combined with his leanness served to make him look like an upright bean sprout. A weird-looking bean sprout, in Shuri’s opinion, with weird-looking hair. His warrior's wolf tail, shaved sides and back of his scalp, crowned with long hair pulled into a ponytail, was a style favoured by the boys of the youth corp assigned to carry out page duties at the palace. On Sijuwade, upgraded to ‘security detail’ for the day, it looked like a frayed feather duster had been stuck to the back of his head.

Shuri knew she wasn't being kind or rational, but she couldn't help it; he irked her. With his long limbs that were constantly getting in her way - _why_ he was always in her vicinity to get in her way she had no idea, which irked her even more - and his ridiculous doe eyes that were the colour of caramelised honey. And the weird way they turned an almost golden hue when the sun’s rays caught them. And his eyelashes. What even were those things. Long, thick and sooty. They were annoying. She was annoyed by them.

Then there was his voice! What gave a fifteen-year-old - fifteen! - the right to sound like a grown man! His voice had broken sometime over the past month, she was sure of it. But it vexed her that she couldn't pinpoint when.

What irritated her most of all was how from the corner of her eye or on reflective surfaces, she'd often catch him staring at her, but when she turned to him, he'd hurriedly look away - to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but in her direction.

She was running out of adjectives for how galling he was. She was smart. White Boi II had called her the smartest person he'd ever met. But even if she had two brains, she'd never understand boys.

She resolved to find some low-hanging branches to travel under on their way back. Something to look forward to that perked her up. 

Inclining her head a little towards him - he jerked as if caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, which earned him a raised eyebrow - she said in a clipped voice, “I wish to surprise the White Wolf if possible. Do not make a sound if he is not looking in our direction on our approach.”

With an audible gulp, he croaked, “Yes Inkosazana.”

Shuri eyerolled the distant Jabari mountains.

Boys.

 

 

Unfortunately, there was no opportunity to spook Bucky that day. And by the impish smirk on his bearded face, she knew she'd have to up her game if she hoped to achieve her goal. A challenge. She lived for challenges.

“Game on, old man,” she said by way of greeting.

“Oh ho ho, old man am I? I'm younger than your brother, missy.”

“Biologically yes. Chronologically you're as old as balls.”

“Inkosazana!” Bucky exclaimed, making a show of slapping his cheek in mortification, tutting and shaking his head. “Young ‘uns these days…”

He couldn't hold his scandalised expression for long before he gave in to laughter. It was impossible not to join in when it was such an infectious sound.

Her friend looked good. Revitalised. No longer drawn and wan. His shoulder-length hair looked much better since he'd started applying the shea butter her mother had given him - once Shuri had compelled him to start using it or she'd find a reason to have his hair cut.

The man was definitely attached to his mane. She wondered why. There were days when she longed to chop off hers, especially on mornings when she woke with an idea and would rush to the lab with the tension in her braids slack and stray strands fluffed out. She didn't really care what people thought of how she looked, but had come this close to taking a pair of scissors to her hair when she and Sijuwade had crossed paths and the imbecile had looked at her with, well, a _look_. He hadn't laughed, or even smiled. He'd just given her a… look. The fact that she hadn't been able to interpret it still bothered the ikaka out of her.

She threw him a glare over her shoulder. Clearly he didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, and it pleased her to have him stare like a baby bush pig caught in the path of a charging rhinoceros.

Bucky was grinning when she looked back at him. She wasn't sure why, so she just grinned too.

“What's the plan for today?” he asked. “Shall we… bump gums perhaps?”

Shuri clapped her hands in glee at a new early 20th century expression to add to the collection she'd been building during her visits. “Oooh what does that mean!’

“Well,” Bucky tipped his head over to the bushwillow that grew beside his hut, “make yourselves comfortable and I'll tell ya.” He started without waiting for them to follow. “I'll brew us some tea. Lemme get-”

“Oh Bucky! Wait wait wait I've brought something for you!” She gestured eagerly for Sijuwade to bring the cases over from the hover car. “Two things, in fact!”

Shuri bounced on her toes, so filled with excitement she was sure it would pour out of her mouth if she spoke. Finally she'd get to show Bucky what she'd been working on and perfecting for months.

As soon as Sijuwade had set the cases on their sides on the grass, Shuri got down on one knee between them, snapped the drawbolts open and lifted the lids.

Sijuwade’s sharp intake of breath sounded like awe and it stoked the pride Shuri felt for her handiwork.

She knew the flesh-toned prosthetic arm in the case on her right and its dark gray and gold vibranium counterpart on her left were technological marvels. She'd worked on them for months. Seventy-five days, to be precise, altering them to suit Bucky's gradually leaner build. Both were perfectly shaped to match the muscle contours of his right arm.

“I can add hair to this one if you-”

Sijuwade’s soft but urgent “Inkosazana!” made her look up.

Bucky hadn't come closer. He stood stiffly, his hand clenched in a fist against his sternum, the knuckles bone white.

Shuri did not know if that was worse than how his eyes had dulled in a face that was suddenly too pale, but she didn't understand why.

“Bucky?” Rising to her feet, she took a step towards him only to have him flinch and take a step back. “What is wrong?”

His jaw muscles clenched once, and again. When his nostrils flared, Shuri realised he'd been holding his breath.

“Only two things come in cases like that - weapons and musical instruments,” he muttered, “and those sure ain't trumpets.”

He took another step backwards, stumbling a little but recovering. His eyes slid away from the cases as he turned and walked heavily towards the hut, his arm across his midsection like he was in pain.

It dawned on Shuri then what she had done. Tears pricked her eyes and her lungs compressed painfully. In her blinkered desire to show off not only how she'd mastered the understanding of how his previous arm had functioned, but then of re-creating it and in worlds better ways, she had hurt Bucky.

She did not know what to do. Had she undone their friendship? And worse still, would this affect his healing? Her primary reason for being there that day - she wouldn't be able to go through with it. Not now.

Logic told her to go after Bucky, to repair the trust that must surely have been fractured. But Shuri had never before felt so ashamed. She knew she had the tendency to take too much pride in her work, but she should have known better. Dr. Bongani had warned her Bucky wasn't ready for a new arm, that part of the mental and emotional trauma Bucky had endured for decades had been rooted in the weapon his prosthesis had been used as. Why had she allowed her conceit to turn a deaf ear to the neuropsychiatrist’s concerns? She had no excuse.

Guilt sat heavy in her heart and in her brain.

“Inkosazana?” Shuri rapidly blinked her tears away at the quiet concern in Sijuwade’s voice.

Bending to shut the cases, she said, “Let's go.”

“All right, but… ” Willing herself not to cry, she lifted her head. He wasn't looking at her though. She followed the line of his gaze down to the hut.

Bucky was setting down three mugs on the trestle table under the tree. He glanced up at them, still pale faced, shoulders stiff, before going back into the hut.

Shuri wavered. Should she accept the unspoken invitation? Her feet decided for her before her brain could talk her out of it.

She had to seek forgiveness from Bucky. For taking him for granted. She had to. But how? In all her life she'd only had to apologise for trifling indiscretions, and these she could count on the fingers of one hand, not including her thumb.

Would he accept her apology? She believed he would; he was a good man. His reaction was from the shock of seeing the one thing that had to remind him of seventy years of enslavement. She understood this, but surely he wouldn't think she had deliberately meant to hurt him?

This was why she preferred to remain in her lab. The older she got, the more she was finding real-life interactions challenging to navigate. Perhaps if she had a normal life, away from science, with friends her age-

Her mother, her brother, Nakia, Okoye, even stern Ayo were her friends. Her cousins too. White Boi II to a certain extent. Griot definitely. The AI was her sole confidante and if she were alone now, she'd asked them for advice. The only teenager she spent any amount of time with who wasn't related to her was Sijuwade, and they'd never had a casual conversation.

Another flush of shame. She hadn't even introduced Sijuwade to Bucky. The simplest of etiquettes. If T’Challa had been there, he'd have done it! Her mother too. What did that say about the person she was? What sort of leader would she be one day?

So caught up in unfamiliar guilt-driven angst, she realised she was sitting only when she registered Bucky's hand, palm up, level with her shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he said from behind her. “I overreacted.”

Shuri twisted around, grabbing Bucky's hand with both of hers. “No?” She was confused. Why would he think that? “You did nothing wrong! I knew better and still went ahead.” This time the tears did fall. “I am at fault! You have nothing to apologise for!”

Bucky stepped around the bench and sat beside her. There was sadness in his grey eyes.

“If it helps you feel better, I accept your apology. But I did overreact. I could blame the obvious, but… You saved my life, Princess. Put my head back together. I shoulda known better.”

He squeezed the palm that lay under his and gave it a little shake before letting go with a rueful smile. He rapped his knuckles against his head. “I guess there's still some reassembly required.”

Shuri’s heart swelled with an emotion she couldn't identify. It was a complex mixture of sadness, admiration, and respect. She couldn't name it, but unlike most other things that she couldn't pinpoint, it didn't frustrate her. Instead, it made her feel warm.

“Mother says something similar.” She looked down at her hands. They had created more tech than the number of years she'd been alive, but she hadn't considered the cost until that day. “She says we are all under construction.”

Speaking of which, she'd better start laying foundations.

“This is Sijuwade. He is my… guard for today.”

Bucky grinned over her shoulder at the boy. “Oh, Siju and I are pals.”

Of course they'd be. Wakandans who'd never seen a Caucasian were surely intrigued by Bucky. Why would she be surprised that he'd made friends with other people, especially curious teens?

The boy was filling the mugs with fragrant red tea from a kettle when she looked at him. The bright-eyed beam on his face transitioned seamlessly into his usual caught-out expression.

Bucky was saying something about something, and she summoned her thoughts back to her from dimples and twinkling caramel eyes.

“-this bench and the table. Thanks again, brother. Wouldn't have been able to do it on my own.”

Shuri hadn't thought to ask where the items had come from. They'd been there four Tuesdays before; she'd presumed a villager had gifted them to Bucky. Which meant Sijuwade had been making visits for a month at least.

She had mixed feelings about this. What did they talk about? She and Bucky could chat effortlessly about anything that struck their fancy as though they were not separated by decades in age. Did he and Sijuwade share the same sort of friendship? Did they speak about her? _What did they talk about?_

It wasn't her place to ask. She did, however, give Sijuwade a cool side-eye and hoped her _he was my friend first_ was loud and clear. In return, she received a surprising sheepish grin.

He didn't look… unpleasant.

Bucky's goats announced their return with rambunctious bleating from wherever they had been foraging. Five kids scampered over like happy puppies, followed more sedately by two pretty white and brown nannies with a large black and tan billy bringing up the rear.

Bucky had sent Shuri a panicked call for help when both of the nannies had gone into labour at the same time. Assisting in the birthing of a set of twins and another of triplets (with precise instructions from Griot) was one of the best experiences of Shuri’s life.

Bucky had named the runt of the triplets Steve, and had regaled, and horrified, Shuri with stories of the brawls the captain had gotten into when he was younger, before the serum.

Shuri had been given the pleasure of naming the other four. One was Apile, for the curve on its crown that reminded her of the top of an apple, and the others were Ihlobo, Thando and Izula. These four piled around her legs and Bucky's for pats and scratches between their ears. The nannies, Polly and Dolly ( _neighbours who kept an eye on me when Ma was out_ ) settled down by Sijuwade’s feet.

Sam the billy ( _man, does he look like someone I know!_ ) stood a little away from the shade of the tree and levelled a tawny brown stare at them, his rectangular pupils making it seem as though he were appraising them. Shuri was reminded of T'Challa. Chuckling, she was about to tell Bucky so when little Steve trotted with a comical swagger up to the goat and headbutted him on the side with a demanding bleat. Sam didn't acknowledge this challenge but gave the three humans a long-suffering look before moving to join the nannies.

Apparently, Steve took this to be a victory and hopped and skipped about under the sun. Laughing, Bucky slapped his thigh. “That right there is Steve for you!”

The other kids joined Steve to caper about the yard. They were full of energy, these kids, including Steve who blessedly shared only his namesake’s younger scrawniness and not his myriad illnesses.

Shuri could picture Bucky chasing after his Steve to keep him out of fights, or joining in the fray to prevent him from being hurt. She didn't have to look at Bucky to know he was smiling, pink cheeked and crinkly eyed from laughter.

Did she dare go through with what she'd set out to do? The earlier upset had smoothed over, but now that he was happy, relaxed and unsuspecting, the perfect time to do what she must, for his sake, did she dare?

She hadn't brought a weapon to protect herself or Sijuwade because tragically, there would be no need for one; if Bucky was triggered, he'd be under her command.

“Hey,” he bumped a knee against hers. “You alright? Staring off into deep space there.”

She had to. It had to be done. Better to go back to square one at the hands of a friend. And didn't that make her feel like a traitor.

“Yes,” she said, making herself smile while tamping down the anxiety that was blooming in her chest. “I was just wondering if now would be a good time to ask for your help.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Sure!” And when she didn't speak, he gave her an encouraging nod.

Shuri took a deep breath, and took the plunge.

“Well, it is Griot, you see. They are exploring their artistic parameters,” not untrue, but it was she who had programmed them to do so, “and has composed a poem.”

Entirely Griot’s idea. She'd wanted a story but they'd pointed out it would be lengthy and confusing.

“But poetry is not something I am fond of, so we were hoping you would give it a listen.”

His eyes lit up. “Why I'd love to! Let’s have it.”

The coil of anxiety loosened not one bit. She tapped a kimoyo bead.

“Good morning, Sgt. Barnes,” the mellifluous voice of the AI said. 

A lump formed in Shuri’s throat at Bucky's grin and obvious thrill at being spoken to by a voice in the air.

“Morning, and it's Bucky please. You've written a poem, Griot?”

“Indeed I have, Bucky. I must warn it is, as the parlance goes, rather lame. Shall I recite it?”

Bucky leaned forward as if to hear better.

“Yes, please. Please do.”

Shuri stilled, her unblinking gaze centred on his face.

‘Longing

Heart hinges rusted

From tears shed since seventeen

Unceasing from nightfall to daybreak

In the furnace of anguish

Memories of when we were nine

Promises of eternal love in times benign

I await your homecoming

You are my only, my one

The battlefield called you

To it the freight car took you

Your promise lives in my heart

War is not the end of us’

Bucky stared at the bead as though stunned. Watching his face intently, Shuri blew out a slow breath, tongue prepared to utter the command that would have to fol-

“That's - that's something else!” Bucky exclaimed. “Wow, don't that beat all. I'm no expert mind you, but there's sadness there ‘cause y’know, there's no guarantee that loved one's gonna come home.” He scratched his cheek. “Good job, Griot.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” The AI sounded pleased. “It was cobbled together in less than five minutes using ten words. Would you like to know what they are?” At Bucky’s go-ahead, they said, “Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, and freight car.”

Bucky whistled. “Those are pretty random words. Like ‘freight car’. That's a odd one. How'd you come up with them?”

Shuri was a firm believer in deflection and its necessity in getting things done that would otherwise take too long to explain. It was one of the first skills she had programmed into Griot.

“They are words I happened to have in my database, Bucky.”

As they talked, Shuri wanted to shout out her joy, to pump her fists in the air. What she did do was slump in relief against the back of the bench and try to prevent her smile from splitting her face in two. Yes, this success didn't mean that he couldn't be triggered by perhaps German, Romanian, even Chinese versions of the code, but there was no longer a need to conceal the truth from him. 

She'd tell him, but not just then.  Perhaps the following Tuesday. Or sometime after. For now, she was content to make grabby hands at the mugs of tea and as Sijuwade passed her one, to motion for him to join Bucky and her on the bench, which he did with a small smile. She found herself returning it.  

“Hey, stick around, Griot,” Bucky was saying to the AI that was excusing themself. “Bump gums with us.The princess here's gonna tell me about the arms she's made me,” he winked at her surprise, “and once she's done, you can explain why she's been referring to you as ‘they’.”

 

 

And that was how the rest of that Tuesday morning passed for Shuri, the recovering soldier, and her not-so-irksome, perhaps-one-day friend - a passionate discourse on the superiority of the vibranium arm veined in gold over any other prosthetic in existence, a minor debate over the need for arm (and underarm) hair, Bucky's introduction to 21st-century gender terminology and Shuri’s unshakeable belief in Griot's right to choose their gender when they were ready, Apile and Izula’s discovery that they could hop onto the bench and their subsequent fascination with Sijuwade’s ponytail, which was sparser by the time his princess and he headed back to the palace.

Along a route with low-hanging branches which he spent the journey ducking and once getting slapped in the head, to Shuri’s guilty delight.

 

~xxx~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first fic on ao3. I love Shuri and am happy to share with you my headcannon of her. 
> 
> English is far from my first language, and tenses and prepositions are my bugbears. Grammarians, roll out the red ink. I welcome concrit. 
> 
> I'm minxymojo on tumblr.


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